Lost in the woods, he made idols. From pine cones and pine needles, from white birch bark and moss, from fiddleheads and what might have been the skull of a raccoon. He ought to have eaten the peanut butter (the fiddleheads, too) but instead he used it to hold God together. If you could have asked him, he likely would have admitted, “What I’d really like is to be found.” But, if that was not feasible, he was glad to have the company of God, whom now the ants, too, had found.
Lost in the forest, he took stock of his provisions. Three granola bars, one half liter of water, a handful of raisins, six small gods.
Was he only playing? Maybe he was only playing. But in any case, it was now God’s turn.